“Shhh, ’tis all right, child.” She kissed the top of her head, murmuring into her hair. Marien swept across the small space, enveloping her in warmth and softness and the smooth, sharp scent of lemon verbena. “Mother?” she whispered, and promptly burst into tears. But after hours of fear, hunger, and churning panic, it only took one word to undo her. She steeled herself for another round of brutal questioning from the soldiers, summoning what little well of strength she had left. She curled into herself instinctively, the shackles dragging and clanking against each other as she raised her hands to block the light. She’d almost forgotten the door was there by the time the heavy bolt screeched open, a stab of torchlight blinding her after hours of complete dark. But as the night wore on, the cold stealing its thin fingers up her ankles and calves, she just wished for her mother. She thought of her mother in full prioress regality, stern and powerful and threaded through with iron, and wished for her strength. She held her head high, gritted her teeth, and glared malevolence at the warped wooden boards of the door and the rough voices of the men beyond.Īnd when even they faded away, and she began to fear they’d forgotten about her or planned to leave her behind, and fear twisted itself into panic, she would not give in. Not when the soldiers barked their orders at her to stand down not when they grabbed her up like a common criminal and threw shackles on her wrists not when they shoved her in this moldy makeshift prison cell that once served as a potato cellar not even when the strips of light leaching in from outside grew longer, and thinner, and then disappeared altogether. Isabelle took great pride in herself that she did not cry once during the whole wretched, messy ordeal. Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc.

Hood jenny moke